Loose Laces

Part Six...

My map indicated the union hall was pretty near the Beltway, so I proceeded in that direction, hoping to find a service station where I could get my bearings and ask directions. I had been advised by some worldly person back home to stay off the beltway if possible, resulting in my round-about and difficult time getting to the hiring hall. I was also bursting to pee and needed some gas for the Bird and and a snack for myself. I hadn't eaten since the previous evening. Found a busy looking station near the beltway on ramp, and got squared away. The proprietor happened to be a transplant from Johnson City (JC)—where I now call home—and upon seeing my tags, asked if I had ever driven the beltway before. I answered that I until I saw my map of DC, I didn't know such a thing existed. He advised me to get on the beltway, and stay in the farthest right hand lane all the way to my exit ramp. After exchanging a few stories of things we had in common in JC, I bade him farewell , entered the beltway and followed his advice... for a few minutes. As I was poking along behind a semi and all the other cars flying by on my left, one of them slowed, tooted the horn, and motioned for me to roll down the window. It was two young ladies in the car, and the passenger hollered and asked what part of Tennessee I was from. I yelled back I was from Jonesborough. She laughed and said she was from JC. They waved and went on their way, and their lane of traffic seemed much happier.

I soon became bored and decided to join the faster lanes of cars. I turned on my signal, and after an eternity, another car allowed me to get in. I didn't realize at the time I was supposed to just go for it and that they would toot their horn and shake their fist, then do the same thing I did to a driver in the next lane. It is the only way the locals know how to keep moving on freeway. I finally saw a sign that said my exit was one mile away, and by now I was two lanes away from the exit lane, and we were zooming at a good clip. I finally was able to move over a lane, and then tuned on my flasher and tooted at a semi who graciously allowed me to make a hard right in front of him and directly onto the off ramp. If hell exists, one level of it is being on a beltway forever and ever without being able to change lanes.

Somehow I got on 301 South. Anything going south was a good thing; I was a tattered bumpkin needing to see some hills and open country. The open country would soon come, but it would be more than two months before I was to see a decent hill again. I think I passed Andrews Air Force Base on my left, but I'm not certain. After a long spell of driving and seeing pine trees and lots of motels seemingly in the middle of nowhere, and just south of a little town called La Plata, I found my destination; the powerhouse under construction. The unit was already more than half completed, and the turbine was on turning gear. Turning gear is actually a small electric motor and gearbox that keeps the turbine and generator shafts turning at a slow but constant speed. I think it was to relieve the stresses of gravity on the huge and heavy precision parts, and to keep the steam from having to begin turning the turbine from a dead stop.

It was already afternoon when I got to the job site, I was hungry, and I needed to find a place to sleep and take a bath. I located the trailer of Bechtel Corporation, my new employer, hired in and told them my situation. They told me to go back up 301 until I came to a place called The White House Motel, because they were providing rooms for some of the powerhouse workers like myself.

The facade of the motel did resemble the White House in DC. Until just a short time before I arrived there, the state of Maryland had legal gambling. All those motels I saw on my trip down from DC were for that purpose. Not just for the slots that each one had in their lobbies, but to take care of other "good time" residuals. The legalized gambling had been done away with by the legislature, and the motels were hurting for occupants.

It was a very nice motel, built for catering to the needs of our nation's lawmakers and their lower echelon bureaucratic employees. Hell, The White House motel and a lot more of them were designed to be places where they could get away from the spouses for a few hours... if you know what I mean. They had a beautiful dining room with excellent food, but it would take a while before I could afford to partake of its culinary delights.

I paid for a room for a week, and it took a big hunk out of my remaining cash. I went to a 7-Eleven and bought a couple of sodas and some snacks, and such would be my fare for several days. Later on that week, I called my folks and had them wire me another $150... I was desperate. Western Union charged them $62 bucks to make the wire transfer. I was beginning to wonder if becoming an electrician was the right decision.

Next... my first payday.